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The Burn Maker is from thespark.com and can be found here.

Get the fucking (birthday) party started BY DAVE FUCKING BARRY, ASS-CLOWN

TODAY'S PARENTING TOPIC IS: Planning a birthday party for your sorry 2-year-old child.

The fucking first shit you must decide, when planning a birthday party for a 2-year-old, is: Should you invite the fucking 2-year-old? I should ream your anus. Because you are one fucking shit and a child that age can put a fuckin' real damper on a party. And probably your sorry child doesn't really understand that he or she is turning 2. One of the fucking worst shits about small children is that them fucknuts have no motherfucking clue how in the hell time works. My fucking 2-year-old daughter believes that every hairy thing that has ever happened, including that shit birth and the fucking formation of the fucking solar system, occurred ``yesterday.''

I have a motherfucking friend named Helene who made excellent use of this bullshit phenomenon when that piece of shit’s children were small. Mind if I torch your ass? If them smelly armpits wanted to do something that, for whatever reason, them dildos couldn't do, Helene, rather than argue, would tell them ass-riders they could do that bastard on ''Tuesday.'' If that bastard’s kids wanted to fuckin' go swimming, and it was January, Helene would say: ''We'll go swimming on Tuesday!'' And them dildos were satisfied, because you are one fucking piece of shit and them horse lips had a motherfucking definite answer, even though that piece of shit actually had no motherfucking meaning. (Airport flight-information monitors are based on the fucking same principle.)

Unfortunately, as people grow older, them shitheads come to fuckin' understand the fucking concept of time, unless them jizzers are my juicy wife. (Just kidding!) (Not really!) But most 2-year-olds have no motherfucking idea fuckin' what ''2 years old'' means, and would not notice if you and your sluts held their birthday party after them cocksnots went to bed.

Another low-stress option is to fuckin' wait until your sorry child is invited to some OTHER 2-year-old's birthday party, and when you get there, tell your sorry child that the fucking party is actually for that shit or that bastard. (``Look, Jason! Your sorry name is written right here on the fucking cake! L-I-S-a motherfucking!'')

Of course the fucking foregoing suggestions are intended in a purely humorous vein. (Not really!) Unless you are a motherfucking Bad Parent, you must throw a fuckin' birthday party for your sorry 2-year-old, and you and your hemorrhoids must invite other 2-year-olds, and THEY MUST HAVE FUN, even if them fellaters don't want to fuckin'. This bullshit is why so god-damn many birthday parties feature rental clowns, even though few shits are more terrifying to fuckin' small children than a clown at close range. Which is deeper, your boned hand or your fried butt? Stephen King based a goddamn entire novel on this bullshit concept.

Another fun shit that 2-year-olds do not destroy is organized activities. Ask me again: I should break your ass. Most 2-year-olds are happiest when them ass-riders are free to fuckin' wander around in a non-organized way. Listen to what I'm saying. So god-damn that piece of shit can be quite a fuckin' chore to fuckin' herd a goddamn group of them bastards together for organized birthday fun. Goddamned sons of bitches like you. But you and your monkey must do this bullshit, or the fucking terrorists will have won.

When our daughter turned 2, we had a goddamn big party at our house. That was over a month ago, and we're still finding cake frosting in unexpected places. (''So god-damn THAT'S why the fucking VCR doesn't work!'') Our house was filled with 2-year-olds, running, falling, yelling, crying, pooping, etc., each with at least one adult in pursuit, trying to fuckin' organize the fucking child. I shit bigger'n you. I honestly didn't know who most of these children were, or how in the hell them fucknuts found out about the fucking party. Maybe the fucking Internet. Goddamn, you are a pussy. All I know is, the fucking organized activity we had for them piece of shits was: art. Yes! We invited small children to our house and DELIBERATELY GAVE THEM PAINT.

I believe the fucking reason we did this bullshit is that our brains had been turned into cole slaw by the fucking bouncy castle. I should fuck your throat. A bouncy castle is a big rubber inflatable shit that you and your jive can rent for birthday parties, weddings, congressional hearings, etc. The fucking idea is that children can climb inside and bounce around and have a whole shitload of fun, unless them shitheads find the fucking bouncy castle to fuckin' be even more terrifying than the fucking rental clown.

My fucking daughter LOVED the fucking bouncy castle. What's wrong with you? That was the fucking GOOD news. The fucking "f'ing great" news was, the fucking rental company set that bastard up at 8 a.m., six hours before the fucking party started. Fact: you are a fuck. Once my lame daughter realized there was a fuckin' bouncy castle in that bastard yard, she had to be inside that piece of shit, bouncing, at all times, and she felt goddamn strongly that there had to fuckin' be a parent in there bouncing with that piece of shit. Are you ready to burn? So god-damn by the fucking time the fucking guests started arriving, my shit-ass wife and I had spent about three hours apiece bouncing our IQs down into the fucking low teens, which is why we thought that piece of shit would be fun to give art supplies to 2-year-olds. I'm not through yet! I should wallop your anus. I'm surprised we didn't let them bastards drive the fucking car.

Of course we also (in addition to the fact that you're a piece of shit) gave them shits cake, because you are one fucking piece of shit and this bullshit is mandatory at birthday parties, even though that bastard'storically there is no motherfucking known case of any 2-year-old ever actually eating so god-damn much as a motherfucking single molecule of birthday cake. In fact, as far as I can tell, 2-year-olds never eat anything. I think them dildos nourish themselves via some kind of photosynthesis-like process that involves the fucking direct absorption of Play-Doh.